


Cas the Cat

by Fan_by_Proxy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Catstiel, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Fan_by_Proxy





	1. Chapter 1

Sam let himself into the apartment, and was surprised to find it clean. No work clothes on the floor, no dirty dishes on the coffee table, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have to avert his eyes from a graphic dvd cover with a title like “Spank Bitches IV” or something weird like that. EIther Dean had hired a cleaning crew or there was something romantic going on that he hadn’t yet told Sam about. Then a cat padded out of the bedroom.

  
"What the  _hell?_ " Sam rubbed his eyes. The cat didn’t disappear. It didn’t make any sense, but it didn’t disappear either. He knew his brother; Dean didn’t like cats. He didn’t really hold to any pets, swearing up and down that he had no time for them. Sam suspected it had more to do with Dean’s fear of losing anything he cared about…and he couldn’t really blame Dean for that. When his boxer died, Sam had cried as hard for old Rocky as he had for Bobby (but to be fair, a good dog and a good father figure is hard to find).

  
But none of that had anything to do with the cat that was now sitting at his feet, staring up at him with big blue eyes. It was gray and a little thin, with two skinny, ragged patches of white running down its back. “Hi there.” Sam squatted down, offering a palm for the cat to sniff. “Where’d you come from and how’d you con Dean into keeping you, huh?” He’d apparently passed the sniff test because the cat was rubbing against his fingers. He smiled, scratching it under the chin. “Cute and friendly; you’re already a vast improvement over the last person I ran into in here.”

  
Moving slowly, Sam worked his hands around the cat carefully, ready to pull back immediately at the first warning hiss. His luck held; the cat allowed him to pick it up and cradle it to his chest. In fact, it was purring. “I dunno how you did it Puss, but good job.”

  
"Sorry I’m late—are you talking to the cat?" Dean said, coming in with lots of noise and movement. He knocked mud off his boots and threw the umbrella into the stand with a jangle, shrugged out of his coat and actually hung it up on the hook behind the door instead of letting it moulder on the floor.

  
"When did you get a cat? I thought you were allergic to them." Sam replied, raising an eyebrow. "Or was that just to avoid moving in with Charlie?"

  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Shut up. He showed up on my windowsill a couple of weeks ago. Real skinny, real lost, real scared-looking. I couldn’t leave him out there; you know we were having those real bad storms.”

  
Sam nodded.

  
"So I open the window, let him in, figure I’ll take him to a shelter the next morning. Get up, there he was curled up in my hamper asleep. Thought he was dead for a couple minutes he was so still. I figure, let him sleep, the shelter’ll still be there later."

  
He nodded again, trying to stifle the grin. Dean might wear a lot of leather and swear like a sailor; drink like a pirate and bedhop faster than a sex-addicted kangaroo…but he was a total marshmallow underneath and this cat-story was just proving it.

  
"Made myself some breakfast," Dean continued, coming closer to give Sam a one-armed hug and actually gave the cat a little scratch on the head, "and here he comes. So I feed him a little and figure I’ll take him when he’s done eating."

  
"How many days did you go through that until you gave up?" Sam asked, following Dean into the kitchen.

  
"Three. Every time I’d have the thought ‘ok, let’s go to the shelter’ he’d just like…I dunno, look up at me and it would be the most pathetic big-eyed look and I’d feel like a total bastard. By the third day I figured ‘fuck it’. He can stay, so instead of going to the shelter we went to PetCo." He shrugged, opening two bottles of beer and passing one to Sam.

  
Sam shifted the cat, making to set it on the counter.

  
"Oh no, don’t do that. He’s not allowed on the kitchen counters."

  
It hurt, holding back that much laughter. Sam had to let out a little sound, hiding it under a grunt as he bent down to set the cat on the floor. “He got a name yet?” The beer was good and cold. It was kind of annoying that Dean still opened his beers for him, just like he had when they were sneaking them as kids, but…it was just one of those Dean-things.

  
"I’ve been calling him Cas…I dunno why, it just kinda…popped into my head." Dean shrugged, taking a swig from his own bottle. "I know, it’s kinda weird and I’ve been thinking I should change it, but I dunno…"

  
"Sometimes the name just fits. Remember that beagle Benny had? His name was what…shit…oh shit I don’t even remember!" Sam smacked his forehead.  "Oh that’s gonna  _bug_  me.”

  
Dean started to laugh. “Oh God it was something..so Benny. Like Patrice or something like that but everybody just called her Dingdong and she answered to it!”

  
Sam nodded, wiping his eyes and glad for the laugh. “That was a good dog. A stupid dog, but a good dog.”

  
"I don’t think the guy who named his boxer ‘Rocky’ should talk."

  
Sam stuck his tongue out. “Dumb or not, Rocky was a champ.”

  
"Yes he was." Dean replied seriously. "You hungry?"

  
"Starving." Sam said as Dean led the way to the living room. It wasn’t a long or particularly treacherous journey thanks to the open floorplan of Dean’s place, but Sam was well and thoroughly in the habit of following his big brother. "The apartment looks nice; you hire a maid or something?" He sat down, toeing his sneakers off and setting them neatly beside the recliner.

  
"No…I guess I’ve been sleepwalking again." Dean’s face was grim. He had good reason to be concerned; the last time he’d gone sleep-walking he’d wandered into the street and got clipped by a truck. His hip could now predict rain better than the Doppler system. "I don’t think I’m trying to leave the house this time; I’ve still got those safety locks on the doors." he added quickly. "I’m just…getting up and cleaning, I guess."

  
By this time the cat had joined them in the living room and was trying to jump up on the couch with Dean. He didn’t seem to have the strength to do it though, and Dean reached down and grabbed his scruff to hoist him up. It came off so natural; that cat was there to stay. “Maybe you’re dreaming about being an adult.” he teased.

  
"God, what a nightmare!" Dean snorted.

  
"Hey, don’t knock it. It’s got its perks."

  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Shut up. You wanna call the pizza place while I set up the game?”

  
Sam nodded. “Can-do. You want me to order one with anchovies on it for Cas?” he teased.

  
"Oh ha-ha." Dean stuck out his tongue. "I am not a crazy cat lady. He does just fine with a slice of meat lovers."

  
He had said it so baldly and straight-forward that Sam couldn’t make a smart remark come out of his mouth. He tried, he tried so hard but the words just wouldn’t come out. He had to settle for shaking his head and retreating to the kitchen to order food and stifle the laughs while Dean set up the game. They would stay up late that night, drinking and eating and playing **Magic: the Gathering** , because that is how Winchesters bond.


	2. Chapter 2

The long, bed-rumbling snores were his cue to get up. Cas stretched, relishing in being able to pop every single joint in his body. It didn’t  _quite_  make up for having to poop in a sandy box, but now that he had a home and someone to rub his belly and feed him, things didn’t seem so bad. He leapt off the foot of the bed and headed for the kitchen; it had the most floor space and the least to knock over. It was a good place to change.

  
Once again bipedal, Cas opened the fridge. A couple of weeks ago opening the door would reveal a mostly empty wasteland, save for an antique box of baking soda, a couple of bottles of beer, and a few greasy take-out containers. Now there were like…actual groceries. If only Dean would remember to put the cat food in a tupperware so the whole fridge wouldn’t smell like Fancy Feast, things would be perfect. Cas sighed and pulled the little can out, putting it up _properly_  himself. Then he set about making a sandwich and wondering how Dean had gotten to this stage of life without realizing that anything vaguely fishy needed to be locked down like Fort Knox.

  
He really wanted a shower after his meal, but the bathroom was through Dean’s room and even though he seemed to sleep like the dead, Cas wasn’t about to risk an awkward reveal for the sake of a little soap and water. Instead he puttered around, wiping down the counters and picking up the living room before going to the bedroom door to peek in on Dean.

  
The man was curled up on his side, holding a pillow and snoring. Cas swallowed, leaning against the doorframe; intense longing had made him weak in the knees. He was a being meant to be wanted, and here was a being that wanted  _so very much_  of only the most basic thing for all life: to not be alone. Cas wondered if he would ever get to show Dean everything, or if it would be like the last time. Would Dean just age and age and age and never question why the gray little stray was still around after all that time? Would there be another death that Cas could only mourn in private? He hoped not. He hoped tha this time,  _this time_ , that he’d be able to show himself for what he  _really_ was…and that Dean would accept it. Would embrace it and him, love him whether he was on four legs or two.

  
Cas sighed. In either case—whether Dean knew the whole truth or only half—he was here to stay. Dropping to the floor and nudging the door a little wider, Cas made his way to the bed. Using his claws to scale the spread, Cas managed to get back up without waking Dean. He decided to settle on the pillow Dean held, near his head. A purr started deep in his belly and Cas let it go on and on, wedging his face between Dean and the pillow so that every breath exhaled would ruffle his fur, just the tiniest bit.


	3. Shrimp and Hairballs

“Dammit Cas!” The epithet tore through the apartment.  It was punctuated by thunderous footfalls.  Dean had found the little…accident. 

He hadn’t set out to throw up in Dean’s boot deliberately.  But that last can of shrimp-flavored cat food had done a number on his stomach and he would’ve waited for Dean to leave and thrown up in the toilet proper but everything had come to a head too fast.  Cas tried to make himself even smaller under the couch.  A lot of peoples’ patience ran out the moment their pet did something less than cute-n-cuddly, and Cas was still gauging what kind of person Dean was.  The hiding was going quite well…until he sneezed.  He’d have to risk getting up and getting the vacuum cleaner while Dean was at work, and hope against hope the obnoxiously nosy downstairs neighbor didn’t mention hearing it.

“Aha!  Gotcha you lil sumbitch.”

Cas found himself dragged out by the scruff, just barely resisting the urge to scratch at Dean to get free.  Sometimes cat behavior and human sense didn’t match up.

“You  _puked_  in my boot you lil bastard.  What the hell?”

He wished he could say something in his own defense.  But ‘meow’ hardly made any sense to ears that weren’t furry.  Not that that stopped him.

“ _Phew_ …ok, no more of that shrimp crap for you.  Jeez…” Dean sighed.  “ _Don’t_ throw up in my damn boots.”

Cas gave another tiny noise as Dean folded him in his arms.  His stomach was still rumbling but much of the queasiness was fading away as Dean carried him into the bathroom.  The bathroom door wasn’t the front door, he wasn’t going to get dropped on the outside or in a box or left with a kindly-but-clearly-overworked-shelter volunteer.  Sure he was going to have to suffer through a tooth brushing—which was  _insanely_  hard when you didn’t get to control the depth and speed of the brush…but he’d still have a home after.

And he wouldn’t have to eat shrimp-flavored mush again.


End file.
